


Songs of Seleya

by Renata Lord (snowlight)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, Death Rituals, Language Kink, M/M, Rituals, Roleplay, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlight/pseuds/Renata%20Lord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk studies the Vulcan language while on medical leave. Naturally, sexytime ensues. Contains sensory deprivation, handporn, Smart!Kirk, roleplay, fake Vulcan, even faker Vulcan rituals, and slight D/s elements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs of Seleya

**Author's Note:**

> Ha-lo le-khol shirayikh ani kinnor. (Behold, I am a lyre for all your songs.)  
> —Yerushalayim Shel Zahav (Jerusalem of Gold)

During his Academy days, Cadet James Kirk was known for being some sort of genius in certain areas. That extended to the subject of xenolinguistics, and not just because he could do pickup lines in twenty-six different languages.

The thing is, despite a whole three semesters' worth of coursework, Kirk never quite cracked Vulcan. He used to joke with Bones about his lack of motivation stemming from Instructor T'Sel having the charisma of a snail, both in and out of the classroom. And those pointy ears? Total turn-off. Besides, with so few Vulcans in Starfleet, their language just didn't seen as useful as, say, Orion.

A lot has changed since the days he rolled around in the proverbial grass. For one thing, Kirk knew pointy ears were sexy as hell now. And given how much communication Spock received from Vulcan Beta these days, he really wanted to have a more intuitive understanding of what's going on. Spock would tell him if he asked, of course, but Jim appreciated the intimacy associated with a language, and he wanted to know all the little details which aren't readily translatable.

The logical thing to do would be to pick up learning Vulcan again. Unfortunately, given his schedule and the necessities of command, the study plan had become one of those things Kirk kept promising himself he would do one day. Just not at the moment or in the foreseeable future. It's like that Christmas vacation with Spock in Iowa: it's a really good idea which he just can't find the time for.

Until now.

But really, _it didn't have to happen like this_.

The captain cursed for what must be the hundredth time in his head, groping for pen and paper in the binding darkness. He tried to calm himself by recalling Bones' promise that the radiation effects would naturally wear off in another sixty hours. There were numerous past incidents, and not a single person had ever become permanently blinded by exposure to Uri rays. The worst that could happen was slight vision impairment, nothing a quick surgery couldn't correct. Yet at the moment, being holed up alone in his own quarters, that reassurance provided little comfort.

Jim Kirk groaned, laying back on his bed.

"Computer, initiate Vulcan language tutorial program, sequence four, section five."

*

The transcription exercise could not be completed on PADD because he didn't have sufficient knowledge of Vulcan script input methods. But Kirk didn't mind writing by hand, even though it had been a while since he tried his hand at the writing exercises, much less doing so without the handy sense of vision to help him along. Nevertheless, the Vulcan script—not so much the contemporary version but the style from one or two centuries ago—was a true form of art, and the relics in Spock's quarters were beautiful to behold. Kirk took to pen and paper, and had just finished the section when the door whirled open quietly.

He terminated the program and cocked his head towards the door.

"Captain," the familiar voice poured over him. "I apologize for the intrusion."

"Hey, Spock—just the person I wanted to see!" He flashed a self-deprecating grin at the terrible pun and waved the paper in the general direction of the door. Damn, he wished he could see Spock's face. "Come correct my homework for me, mister." He patted the bed for emphasis.

"I am beginning to understand why Lady T'Sel had reservations about you," said Spock mildly as Kirk felt the Vulcan's weight shifting into the bed next to him. Their bodies weren't quite touching, but Kirk relaxed a little in Spock's presence. He handed over the writing and stopped himself from latching onto the other man's shoulder. Given the circumstances, it felt entirely too undignified.

Spock asked for the pen as well and went through the papers quickly, reciting the passage—an early chapter from the Songs of Seleya—for Kirk's benefit. The human listened and tried to discern all the little details he might have missed, but he was having a hard time concentrating between being drawn to Spock's voice and hating the fact that he couldn't see Spock's expression. Spock hadn't checked on him since Alpha shift, and having his boyfriend read his sloppy handwriting wasn't supposed to be the first thing on the list when they finally got some time alone.

"I believe you are now fully distinguishing between the sounds of _kh_ and _kk_ , though you still need to pay attention to the consonant harmonies. Whereas transcribing is concerned, the spiral you use for _ra_ is too readily confused with that for _al_ , among other things. Nevertheless, I must say that I am very impressed with your rapid progress. I'm glad that some good is coming out from this unfortunate incident."

It's stupid, but that praise made Kirk's chest swell a little with genuine pride. He refused to let it show.

"My spirals are just fine, thank you, Mr. Spock."

He could _hear_ the Vulcan arching an eyebrow at that. Before he could say anything else clever, Spock reached out to him and touched his fingers.

"Shall I show you the difference, Captain?"

Despite the sincerity, the thought rose to Kirk, half-dazedly as Spock put the pen back into his hand and ghosted over it with his own. _That really wasn't a question at all, was it._

*

Over and over they practiced drawing the symbols for _ra_ and _al_ together, the spirals intercepting each other on the central staff like two mating snakes in an endless embrace. Kirk's mind was sorely focused on the feel of Spock's hand holding his, even as his muscles tried to remember the pen's crisp movement. He wasn't the one who was supposed to get off from hand to hand stimulation, but clearly Spock had infected him with the Hand Porn Syndrome. Sneaky Vulcans.

"Why couldn't T'Sel teach like this?" He murmured into the heat that was Spock, feeling more light-hearted now. "I would have aced that class."

Spock didn't let go of his hand, only slowed down a little.

"You would have wished to practice thus with the lady?"

"Nah," Jim smirked at the voice and leaned over. With his free hand, he found Spock's ear and caressed it fondly. "Could never get used to her pointy ears."

Spock did stop then and turned to kiss him in a very human way. Kirk let go of the pen and cupped the Vulcan's face in his hands, trying to map every line with his touch. Spock let out a rare little sigh of approval—probably for his benefit, but he appreciated it all the same. He closed his eyes and kissed back lazily, unhurried and full of indulgence.

Before long, Spock pressed down bodily over him onto the bed. The human sank into the pillows and the covers gracefully, limbs sprawled out in invitation. He felt Spock's solid weight bearing on top of him and exhaled. This, at least, was safe and familiar.

Familiar, too, were Spock's hands. They slid up his sides and under his shirt, tracing a molten path up his torso. Kirk sighed with pleasure, arching into the touch. Spock usually wasn't quite this gentle or this slow, but today perhaps he had cause to be.

"Your handwriting in Vulcan is aesthetically pleasing, if still imperfect."

The human grinned as he got rid of the pants while Spock's deft hands divested him of his t-shirt.

"Is this the reward for a homework assignment well done then, Instructor?"

Spock said nothing but nudged him to flip over onto his stomach. Kirk does so instantly, spreading himself onto the sheets. His flushed cock, already more than a bit interested, jutted against the warm fabric. Yet when Spock touched him again, it wasn't in the usual spots; instead he felt the hard mound of Spock's palm pressing between his shoulder blades instead. Then Spock began to move.

"A—massage?" Kirk rasped indignantly even as his body unfolded under the sweet touch. "Instructor, I contend that my performance is worth at least a real fuck, _especially_ considering what the passage described."

Spock lifted one hand off his shoulder to stroke at the base of his neck. The pressure was almost teasing, but Kirk knew if he tried to buckle against the Vulcan he would be pinned down by that strength. He did it anyway.

"Had you paid any attention to the subtext, _cadet_ "—and Jim's heart skipped a beat at that last word—"You would understand that it discussed a most serious topic, one which I suspect you have learned nothing of."

He blinked despite the fathomless darkness. If that's the game Spock wanted to play, fine. James Kirk didn't really mind being called a dumb farmboy, but he loved showing up people who thought that way.

" _My blood shall find your blood, and may they embrace in unification. Lo, here cometh the Sun, radiant and all-knowing. I submit, then, to the Light, to you, and to eternity._ " He somehow managed to get the words out in Standard with Spock's hands still working on his shoulders. "That's the part I remember most clearly, anyway. Sounds like some version of Romeo and Juliet. So what is it? Vulcans don't approve of suicides?"

"There are seventy-three chapters to the Songs of Seleya, our most ancient authenticated literary text. Three amongst them, including this one in question, have caused contention amongst scholars. You have deduced that it's a piece written to one's deceased love, and perhaps that is true, but it's also written in the voice of a slave who is about to be sacrificed upon the death of his master."

"Live sacrifices with _slaves_? This is before Surak, I hope?"

Intellectual inquiry was getting hard with whatever Spock was doing to his back. It felt like his whole body was a knot being undone under the Vulcan's hands as Spock's knuckles worked down the muscles lining his backbone, pushing deep until it rippled and quaked across Jim's abdomen.

"Yes. Upon a lord's death, it was common for his favorite slave to be sacrificed during the funeral rites, in order to accompany him into the underworld." Spock sounded bemused, contemplative. "It was considered an honor to be chosen, though poetry aside, I question how did the historians arrive at that particular conclusion."

Kirk felt the Vulcan inching in closer, weight shifting against him on the bed until the hot press of Spock's body directly hovered over him. He was breathing harder now and could just make out the steady in-and-out of Spock's breath over his back, and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered with every exhale. But the touch was still not enough; his cock was still fucking hard. He canted his hips upwards to give the erection more room, seeking Spock's warmth in the darkness. Spock only stilled him with the gentle weight of one knee braced against his thigh.

"Okay, fine, enlighten me about the rites," he groaned, grinding against the sheets in futility.

Spock took his cue and continued in a professorial tone that sounded completely detached from the reality of Kirk lying naked underneath him.

"The funerals, dedicated to the Death God, always took place before the break of dawn. The embalmed body of the deceased would be placed upon _ko-ri-san_ , the high stone altar. Just as dawn is about to break, the chosen slave would be brought before the _ko-ri-san_ , and he lays undressed on the lower altar, _ko-ri-tuol_. The priest asks the slave's name, to which the response would be _'alhor musu-ma vagam lo'tar vekkah sin'an_."

"I...name?" Kirk tried to decipher the phrase, but his brain decided to stop working halfway through as Spock caressed a particularly tense spot. "...Not...light? I'm only picking up random words."

Spock leaned down to kiss the very same place, lips soft and impossibly warm. "Archaic Vulcan. 'I am that which is nameless, for a shadow cannot be without the sun.'"

"Mmm," he breathed, the sound coming out more as a cross between a sigh and a moan rather than a sign he was paying dutiful scholarly attention. Spock's knee was still planted over one thigh and he pushed back against the tantalizing weight braced against him. Spock's knee slid under, to the juncture between his thighs, and Kirk gasped, cock twitching as the leg moved close to his tight balls and exposed opening. Fuck, he wanted to be touched. Properly.

"The priest slits his own finger, letting blood drip into a jar of ceremonial ink. With the mixed ink, he inscribes certain texts on the sacrifice's back using the same finger." Spock went on, still no indication he paid any notice to Kirk melting underneath him. "We believe those might have been certain benedictions and supplications, though no specimen of the rite has survived."

"Show me," the human gasped, rubbing against the delicious friction of Spock's clothed knee against his ass. The words sounded like a please coming out of his mouth. "Show me how they did it."

Spock did not ask for any further clarification. After a moment's hesitation, he sat to work on Kirk's naked back. Kirk clenched his eyes, divining the text from the smooth tracing: the central staff first, then the spirals, the dots, and finally the long and short dashes. He held himself very still, only concentrating on the movement of Spock's hand on his skin, burning and marking him, leaving a trail of shivering pleasure. Yes, he could recognize the words now. Nothing was more fitting.

" _My blood shall find your blood, and may they embrace in unification..._ "

"Yes. As written in the archaic script. I am beyond impressed," Spock said softly.

As a reward, perhaps, the Vulcan let go of the hand that was holding Kirk's thigh and worked two wet fingers into him. Kirk jolted and writhed, trying to surge up to meet the touch. But Spock pressed a hand against the small of his back, and he remembered what he was supposed to be, and quieted down.

Spock twisted and scissored the fingers inside of him. When he was hit in the familiar spot, Kirk cursed in a sound that was neither Standard nor Vulcan. It faded into a whimpering he wasn't proud of, but hey—it seemed to work. As if taking pity on him, Spock dropped another kiss on the small of his back before grabbing his cock and worked it in tandem with the rhythm of the fingers. Jim groaned, biting his lips so hard he thought he must had drawn blood, but he didn't want to come, not yet.

"Did—did the priest do this to the sacrifice, too?"

He was openly fucking himself on Spock's fingers now and he didn't care. His ass shoved back with abandon onto that hand because he needed more, needed it harder and faster. The surging pleasure was almost too much with everything else: perhaps it was the drugs in his system, or a fever of the mind, but Jim thought he could still feel the inscribed calligraphy on his back, burning into his flesh like a tattoo.

"No," Spock said simply. The fingers were withdrawn, and Jim whimpered again in a moment's agony of anticipation before the Vulcan's hard, thick cock pushed into him with deliberate slowness. It slid in, wide and slick, filling him up until Spock's hips and balls fit neatly into the curve of his ass. Kirk let out a long moan as Spock stilled against him, as if trying to rein in the desire in favor of control.

Kirk growled.

"I'm. Not. Suddenly—" He fisted a corner of the sheets. "Made of fucking glass, Spock. Now _move_ it like you mean it."

That was the last coherent sentence his mind supplied him with in any language, for a good while. Spock whispered an "acknowledged" before pulling out almost entirely from his tender, quaking hole, only to slam back in with that famous strength in all its glory. In the void of blindness there was nothing to support him except Spock's body, sinews and muscles and bones and all of it a vessel for desire. _His_ desire.

He thought of the ancient stanzas, the incantations, the snakes in perpetual mating. He thought of Spock.

That name echoed in his head, sweeter than any song. He arched up into his Vulcan with a delirious urgency, needing to suck that body into his own. Spock's hot mouth descended on the back of his neck and just clamped down hard; damn fucking hard as lightning coursed through Jim's veins with the bite.

As Kirk would muse later, perhaps Vulcans were all too like humans in terms of evolutionary neural development. There was something dark and primordial sleeping at the core of that beloved Vulcan soul, and had touched it upon its face. It could have been a Vulcan version of the so-called Reptilian complex that underlined all higher functioning. It was the seat of primitive responses common to all creatures either sentient or simple, of fight and flight, and of all those emotions those high Vulcans liked to pretend they didn't have.

But science and linguistics both deserted him as the feel of Spock's mouth seared into his skin like a branding iron. He cried out—no, fucking wailed was more like it—as he came wet and hot onto the sheets underneath him. Christ, and Spock wasn't even touching his dick.

Spock continued to pound his ass a few more times until Kirk heard that unmistakable soft groan, the hitch in breath. Kirk made an inarticulate but satisfied grunt as hot semen spurts inside him and he pushed upward against Spock's hips one last time.

*

For a long moment, neither of them moved or even breathed. But eventually Spock got up and went away from the bed. Kirk heard the bathroom's door open, and soon the Vulcan returned with wet towels to wipe him down on both sides. Normally he wouldn't put up with being treated like an invalid, but dignity didn't magically make him able to move his limbs. He was starting to drift off.

"Spock?" He murmured when he felt the Vulcan settle into the bed next to him again, probably clutching some report to read, too, because that definitely was the sound of a PADD being turned on. Spock, the hopeless workaholic.

"Yes, Jim."

"You didn't tell me what happens after the that...the rest of the ritual."

Spock leaned down and kissed him on his forehead.

"You may wish to revisit that particular chapter in the Songs of Seleya when you wake up. But for now, sleep."

Somehow he _was_ tired. Too tired to even do a damned pout.

"You gonna be here when I wake up?" He groped for the blanket and, having found it, yanked it from Spock. Vulcans need to stop being such blanket hoggers.

"I will try, Jim. Please go to sleep so I may conclude writing my report."

And so he did, dreaming of ancient fires and snow.

**Author's Note:**

> O, Beloved One,  
> How I wish to warm your cold lips with my own, to breath my life into your body.  
> For in your eyes I am worthy,  
> Even as the world turns from me with its scorn.
> 
> Let the divine whisperer  
> Lay my carved out heart down at the Death God's feet  
> Let both the great Above and great Below see the simple truth  
> That this mortal heart is inscribed with your name alone.
> 
> My blood shall find your blood, and may they embrace in unification.  
> Lo, here cometh the Sun, radiant and all-knowing.  
> I submit, then,  
> To the Light, to you, and to eternity.
> 
> — _Songs of Seleya, Book 7: Lamentations_


End file.
